Miles Vorkosigan? What?
by Owl344
Summary: A man attempts to educate his surprised students on just who the most dangerous man on Barrayar actually is. Humour, and most definitely worship of Miles Naismith Vorkosigan.


_**A/N: This fic isn't realistic for a variety of reasons, and it isn't meant to be. This is an offering to lay at Miles Vorkosigan's feet, because I have a slight case of hero-worship when it comes to him—I can't help it, he's a genius. It's meant as a humour story, too. If you're looking for another chapter of March to the Empire (my Harry Potter fic) I'm sorry, but don't worry—one will be up soon. In the meantime—enjoy!**_

_**Disclaimer: There are things where it's possible, if barely, that I **_**might**_** have created. Then there are things that I wouldn't have a hope in hell of creating. Miles Vorkosigan falls into the latter category.**_

Miles Vorkosigan? What!?

The man paced in up and down the width of the classroom, frowning. His students watched him closely, alert for tricks or clever traps. They were the best of the best, the most talented agents the Ghem had to offer, and they were reserved for Barrayar. Of course, they were still in training, and liable to make a few mistakes. This class was to help prevent any silly and/or dangerous assumptions they might make. Their teacher had informed them that today, they would be studying the most dangerous man in the Barrayaran Empire—they were confident they knew who it was. Obviously, some said, it was Aral Vorkosigan, former Lord Regent and Admiral. Others insisted that it was the Barrayaran Emperor, Gregor Vorbarra. Still more just _knew_ that it was General Allegre, head of Barrayaran's Imperial Security. There were a few who were uncertain as to which of the three it was, but they knew that it was one of them.

As it happened, they were wrong.

The teacher turned to face his students, his frown fading into a wry look. "You know," he observed, "you're not going to believe me when I tell you who it is."

"Oh, don't worry," said one of the cockier students dismissively, "we already know."

The man raised his eyebrows. "So confident," he said, voice mocking. "Do tell me then, oh wise one, who is that most dangerous of men?"

His pupil smirked, undeterred. "Clearly," he said confidently, "it's Aral Vorkosigan."

The teacher grinned—a shark's grin. "Wrong," he said, voice clearly amused. "Anyone else got any ideas they'd like to share?"

A shy student raised her hand tentatively. "Umm…" she said tentatively, "Is it General Allegre? Maybe?"

He shook his head. "'Fraid not. Come on, one more try."

A brunet with a thoughtful look cocked his head curiously, frowning slightly. "I'd say it was Emperor Gregor Vorbarra, but from the way your acting, I doubt it's the right answer," he observed.

The teacher smirked. "Very good," he complimented. "As it happens, Drimevsky, you're right; it isn't their Emperor, or their Chief of Security, or even their former regent. The last is closest, though. The most dangerous man on Barrayar—indeed, more dangerous than any man alive except our Emperor—is him." He pressed a button and a full-length picture appeared. It portrayed a man stunted and twisted, who surely would have died or been dismissed as useless years ago were it not for the intelligence residing carefully in his sharp eyes.

Most of the class gaped. "_What?_" said one of them, managing to give voice to the general incredulity. "I mean, I don't even recognize him!"

"Come now," the man chided mockingly. "We covered him two months ago, when we studied a certain former Prime Minister."

"I'd say," said Drimevsky slowly, "that this man is Lord Miles Naismith Vorkosigan, Heir to Count Aral Vorkosigan. Not to doubt you, sir, but why is he the most dangerous man on Barrayar? I know he's an Auditor, but you said that that was due to his father's favour." Then his brow creased. "No, wait a minute—that's not right. I can't remember exactly what it was, though…"

"He said that it was common knowledge that the promotion was his father's influence," offered the shy girl from before. "But, I mean…it's common knowledge that Aral Vorkosigan, Emperor Gregor Vorbarra or General Allegre is the most dangerous man of our enemy empire, and that's not true, either. Sir," she added belatedly, flushing red at her near lapse in protocol.

"Nicely analysed," said her teacher gently. "And, as it happens, you're correct, Donnon. As to you, Hiffisken," he added, turning on his slower-witted student, appearances are deceiving. You ought to know that."

"Well…" said Hiffisken doubtfully. "Alright, sir, if you say so. But…I mean…what could he do?"

The teacher chuckled. "You know, many people ask that question," he replied, mock-thoughtfully. "And they're always surprised at the answer."

"Er…Sir?"

"I've found," continued the man, "that it's best to talk to someone who has personal experience with this man. Ghem-General, please come in," he called.

A man in full Imperial face-paint entered. "Hello," he said, nodding to the teacher. He looked at the students and grinned wolfishly. "Your students doubting again, are they?"

The man nodded. "As usual," he said frankly. "I'm always disappointed, really…I mean, these are _supposed_ to be the best!"

The Ghem-General's grin widened. "Now now, you can't really blame them. _I_ was almost taken in by him, when I met him."

Their playful banter was stopped by Hiffisken. "Could you, you know, maybe _tell_ us about him?" he interrupted impatiently.

"Certainly," replied the General amiably. "How shall I begin? Maybe by telling you about the medals he's won." He touched a button and, instantly, the picture of the Vorkosigan heir in plain Uniform was replaced by one of the same man, this time wearing all his medals.

The class gaped at the sight. Drimevsky was the first to recover. "Er…" he said slowly, "Sir? Ghem-General? That—on his tunic, there—that isn't really—I mean, it can't be—"

"If you're asking if it's an Order of Merit, the answer is 'yes, it is'," said the teacher dryly.

"But…well, sir, I mean…_how?_"

"He foiled a plot against the Empire by one of the Planetary Governors of the time," replied the man. "I believe the good Ghem-General here was involved?"

The General nodded. "Actually, I was just a Colonel at the time," he remarked. "But yes. The governor had killed a Baa servitor, disguising it as suicide, and I was to investigate. You should have seen that first time I interviewed him," he added. "I swear, it was like he'd decided to interview me."

"We can listen to the recording later," interjected the teacher. "In the meantime: not only has he received an Order of Merit from our Emperor, and just recently he had his cells taken into all the Haut-Lady gene-banks—no, I'm not joking, Hiffisken, don't give me that look—he has, by going under the name of Admiral Naismith, accidentally created a mercenary army and convinced his former ImpSec superiors to make use of it, foiled our attempt at invading the Hagan Hub; foiling our attempt at taking over a certain planet—a feat which earned him a price on his head—succeeded in one of the largest ever P.O.W. rescues; foiled a Komarran attempt at putting a clone of himself, known as Mark Pierre Vorkosigan, on the throne; for a time, he put off our analysts by making it seem as if himself and Admiral Naismith were two different people—"

"From what his psyche files say, that's not far off," murmured the Ghem-General.

"Furthermore," continued the teacher as if he had not been interrupted, "under his own name, he foiled not one but _two_ plots to cause a Cetegandan-Barrayaran war, changed the course of a war over a few months—_accidentally_, solved the mystery of the assault on former ImpSec head Captain Illyan, and the Emperor knows what else."

There was a stunned silence.

"It seems that none of them are wondering about the most important bit," noted the Ghem-General.

"Yeah?" said Hiffisken, rather shaken up by having his assumptions so violently overturned. "What…what would that be?"

The man grinned. "I'm so glad you asked," he said cheerily. "Why, it's how he does things, of course! Didn't you wonder how he accomplished all this?"

"Well…no, sir," admitted Hiffisken reluctantly. "I was too busy wondering that he'd done it at all."

The man snorted. "Quite," he commented dryly. "However, it's a very important question and the answer is…anyone? Does anyone have an idea?"

His question got a round of shaken heads.

He sighed dramatically. "Very well. Ghem-General, your turn."

The General nodded. "Alright. He does this, my dear students, by talking people into things."

"Really?" observed Drimevsky neutrally. "He must be quite the talker."

The Ghem-General nodded dryly. "He is, I assure you. He managed to talk me into going to the Emperor. Hell, he managed to talk his paranoid clone-brother into killing his father-figure. The kid's a genius."

"The kid," observed the man dryly, "is thirty years old."

The General shrugged. "That's besides the point. Watch out for him," he warned the students. "If he finds you out, I wouldn't be surprised if he managed to talk you into double-agenting. Am I done here?" he added, turning back to the teacher.

The man nodded. "I think they've got it. Goodbye, Ghem-General."

The General returned the farewell and exited.

The man turned to face his students and grinned a tiger grin. "So, have you all got it?" he drawled. At their still somewhat shocked nods, his grin transmuted into a full-blown smirk. "Good," he said. "Class is almost over. I want an essay on Miles Vorkosigan's most astounding achievement and why you judge that particular achievement to stand out so. I want it well researched, too; I've taught this class for several years, and I'll know if you skimp." His smirk reverted to an almost sadistic grin. "And I want it by Friday."

The End 


End file.
